Stray
by Clara Barton
Summary: Trowa hates Christmas, has never had a Christmas worth celebrating, and this one is no different. He's called out when an apartment building catches fire and then he runs over a dog on his way home. There seems to be no end to his streak of losing. A Christmas fic for Blanc Casse


A Christmas fic for Blanc Casse! She requested: Trowa is a firefighter on his way home after the longest shift, he's really tired and he hits a dog with his car. Of course, being Trowa, he LOVES dogs so he's frantic and Duo is the on call doctor at the emergency vet clinic he goes to.

So… look. I didn't know how to do with without it getting angsty but… but I promise I made it better in the end, okay?

And I know, super inventive title. I just… need to work on my titles. I know.

Warnings: angst, language, fluff

Pairings: 2x3

**Stray**

It was shaping up to be an awful holiday.

Not that Trowa was surprised. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually _enjoyed_ Christmas.

Maybe when he was a kid, maybe there had been one year that it had been good - but Trowa couldn't remember.

All he could remember were the drunken fights, the shouting, the broken gifts, the one memorable year when the tree caught on fire.

But of course, that was all in the past. Trowa was no longer a child, no longer at the whim of his parents hectic and emotionally charged relationship.

Of course, now that he was grown, living on his own three states and sixteen hours away from home, he still didn't feel as if he had that much control of his life.

He knew that a great deal of that was his own fault - likely it was _all_ his fault, really - but he still couldn't help but resent the world for reinforcing just how futile his efforts to control - hell, to simply exist really were.

Trowa sighed and he turned up the heat. It was freezing, and the cab of the old Ford pickup was crap at retaining heat and usually he just suffered through it, but he was cold. Cold so deep in his bones that it made him tired, made it feel like a monumental effort to turn the knob to turn up the heat.

His exhaustion came from more than the cold, as did his depression.

It had been a hellishly long night.

Trowa had been at home, indulging in his usual solo Christmas Eve celebration of watching Road House and slowly downing an expensive bottle of whiskey when he got the call.

He wasn't on shift that night at the firehouse, despite the fact that he had volunteered - the chief had looked it up, had seen that Trowa had been on shift for the last five Christmas Eves and told him to go home and enjoy himself. But he still got the call and he dumped the bitter dregs of his afternoon coffee in a travel mug and downed it on the way to the station, relieved that he hadn't made it very far into the bottle yet.

It had been bad, the fire. One of the worst Trowa had ever seen, one of the worst any of them had seen. It didn't help that it was Christmas Eve, that it was a low income apartment complex, that it was already dark and it had been weird to see the snow line retreating, melting from the heat of the fire.

They had been lucky, had been able to get everyone out alive. But alive didn't mean uninjured. Alive didn't mean not crying, not screaming, not choking.

Trowa had carried out a three year old girl and listened while the paramedics examined her, had seen the damage, the extent of the burns, her pajamas melted to her skin in places.

But she was alive, her mother there crying and trying to soothe her and no one had died. So there was that.

The chief had sent him home after the building had been cleared, despite the fact that Trowa once again volunteered to stay. He knew most of the guys had families, or at least girlfriends to go home to. But the chief had packed him off with the other guys called in who hadn't been on shift, and by three in the morning, Trowa had showered and was back in his freezing truck, slowly driving home, trying not to think too much about the past or about that girl and her mother.

Trowa scrubbed at his eyes and reached for the radio dial. He hated Christmas music, but the noise would at least quiet his head, at least keep him awake.

He looked up just in time to see the headlights of his truck reflected back at him in an animal's eyes and then he felt it. The _thump_ of his right tire rolling over something.

He slammed on the breaks and barely remembered to put the truck in park before jumping out of the cab.

He grabbed his flashlight and thumbed it on and swept the road.

There, crawling towards the side of the road.

Trowa felt a lump in his throat, felt bile swirl in his belly as he saw the golden coat, the blood, heard the whine of pain and then the pathetic growl of warning.

"Hey, hey," Trowa approached and kept his voice low and soothing. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay - just let me take a look at you."

He couldn't see much, in the dark, just blood on the dog's flank but that was enough. Hip, spine, pelvis. Probably crushed, probably bleeding internally and he couldn't imagine how much pain the dog was in.

The dog wasn't wearing a collar, but Trowa decided to risk the bite, the potential rabies threat. He shucked off his jacket and used it to cover the dog.

It growled again, whimpered, gave a sharp cry of pain as he lifted and Trowa blinked back tears and locked his jaw. The least he could do was take the dog to the vet, let it die in peace.

He should put it in the bed of the truck, but it was so damned cold - he put it on the passenger side floor of the cab and then sprinted back for his abandoned flashlight before running back to the truck and slamming his door closed.

"We're going to get you help, okay. Everything's going to be just fine," He assured the dog.

The dog looked at him with large, pain filled eyes. Eyes that seemed so intelligent. Eyes that knew he was lying, eyes that wanted the comfort all the same.

He was confident he looked like a madman when he barged into the veterinary hospital, a snarling, whining dog covered in blood in his arms, shouting for help.

But the vet - the vet regarded him with an even, open expression.

"Hey, hey," the vet greeted Trowa and the dog, stepping close. "What happened to our friend?"

The dog moved it's head, baring teeth at the vet, but too weak to put up much of a fight when his long fingers smoothed over its coat.

"I hit it - on the highway. I didn't see and then - I didn't want it to die like that."

"Of course not," the vet said, his voice still soothing, his bright blue eyes sincere. He took the dog from Trowa's arms. "Let's just take a look at our friend and see what we can do, okay? Do you want to wait out here or - or you don't have to wait. You did a good thing bringing her here."

"No - no I'll wait." It was the least he could do. "Or I can - can I come back with you?"

"No. We need to do some x-rays and things - but I promise you can look in on her, okay?"

Trowa nodded and wiped at his face.

The vet nodded towards a chair.

"Go sit down. I'll give you an update soon, okay?"

Trowa did as he was told and the vet walked down a hall and out of Trowa's sight.

-o-

He must have dozed off.

When he woke, there was faint, gray light streaming in from the windows and someone's hand was on his shoulder.

Trowa looked up, met the blue eyes of the vet. He looked tired, his skin taut and pale and shadows under his eyes.

"Is she -" Trowa couldn't finish the question.

"She's fine," the vet said and he smiled a little, the right corner of his wide lips tilting upwards. "She was damn lucky. It was a pelvic fracture and a femoral fracture - that punctured the flesh, that was the source of the bleeding - but it was still a clean fracture and so was the pelvic fracture. I had to go in to repair the femoral fracture but the pelvic fracture doesn't need surgery. Just rest."

"You mean - she's not dead."

The vet shook his head and his fingers tightened on Trowa's shoulder, squeezing him in comfort.

"No. She should be able to make a full recovery. Do you want to come see her?"

Trowa nodded and got to his feet.

He followed the vet down the hall, through a series of doors, and into a room lined with large cages. A few of the cages were occupied with dogs, and then the vet knelt by a cage near the floor.

Trowa knelt beside him.

The dog was inside, resting on a towel, breathing steadily, eyes closed. The upper portion of her back leg was shaved clean and Trowa could see a line of even black stitches.

"The analgesic hasn't worn off yet," the vet said in low voice. "But I'll keep her sedated for a while in any case. She'll need cage rest for two weeks at least, then I can start getting her back on her feet and work towards some leash walks. Give her about eight to ten weeks and she'll be walking just fine."

Trowa nodded.

"Thank you," he managed.

The vet patted his knee and then stood up.

"It's no trouble. I'm glad you thought to bring her to me."

The vet led the way back to the waiting room and Trowa saw him hide a yawn.

"Do you - how much?" Trowa realized he should pay, realized that -

The vet waved him off.

"No. No charge. She's not yours and it was good of you to bring her in. No need for payment."

"But I ran over her in the first place."

"Yeah, well, you made it right. It's okay."

Trowa fiddled with his wallet.

"What will happen to her now? I didn't see any tags on her, no collar."

The vet shook his head.

"No. And I don't recognize her either, so she's not one of my patients. I'll send a photo to the other vets in town and see if anyone recognizes her, but judging by her coat she hasn't had a home for a while."

"So…"

The vet shrugged and then he laughed.

"I'll probably just add her to the herd."

"The herd?"

The vet flushed slightly and scratched the back of his neck, drawing Trowa's attention to a long braid of hair. He hadn't noticed it before. He had been so intent on the dog.

"Yeah… want to meet them?"

Trowa arched an eyebrow, but the vet gestured to a door on the other side of the waiting room.

Trowa followed him through the door and up a flight of stairs. As they climbed the stairs, Trowa heard a scramble of feet and a chorus of barking.

The vet stopped at the top of the stairs and opened another door and immediately a flood of dogs greeted him and Trowa.

Trowa had to laugh as he was sniffed and jumped on. He tried to count - six, seven - nine?

"How many?"

"Nine - your friend will make ten."

The vet knelt down and was immediately mobbed by the dogs.

"They're all yours?"

Trowa looked around and realized this must be where the vet lived - they were standing in a large, open room with a couch and arm chairs in one corner, near a fireplace and television. There was a hall leading towards a kitchen and another hall, going in the other direction, leading to two closed doors.

"Yeah. Whenever we get strays like your friend we try to find homes for them, but if the shelter can't place them I… ah… I have a hard time turning away strays," the vet said and shrugged.

The vet stood up and he offered Trowa his hand.

"Sorry, I never even introduced myself. I'm Duo Maxwell."

"Trowa Barton."

Duo smiled.

"Yeah, I ah, saw you on tv earlier."

Trowa frowned.

"What?"

"At the fire - those apartments? The news showed you carrying out a little girl."

Trowa nodded. He had seen the cameras but had ignored them. He didn't care much for the way the news stations swooped in like that.

"I'm guessing you've had a rough night - between that and this."

Trowa had to laugh at that, and he saw Duo wince at the bitter sound.

"Yeah, it's been rough," Trowa confirmed.

"Do you live close by?"

Trowa shook his head.

"Out by the lake."

"That's a haul. Listen, do you just want to crash here? Get some sleep before you make that drive? You can check in on your girl a little later too."

Trowa frowned. The offer was tempting. So damned tempting.

"Why are you offering?"

Duo shrugged.

"Because it's Christmas and you were a good enough guy to bring her in and you're a firefighter, for fuck's sake, so clearly you're a bit of a hero and you're tired. It wouldn't be safe to let you go back out on the road."

Trowa wanted to say yes, but it still felt surreal, felt like an imposition, felt like maybe some kind of dream. A sexy vet asking him to sleep over on Christmas morning?

"And I don't like to turn away strays," Duo added.

"What makes you think I'm a stray?"

Duo gave him a look.

"No wedding band, crappy shave job - you missed a spot by your ear so no one's around to make you do a better job, your boot laces are worn and need to be replaced - which someone else would notice whenever they had to shove those ugly things out of their way when they walked in, and… well, you didn't say anything about rushing home to your family for Christmas morning."

Trowa nodded. It was all true. He felt for the spot Duo had pointed out.

"No, other side," Duo said and ran his fingers over the spot to demonstrate.

Trowa shivered at his touch and Duo stepped back.

"Sorry."

"No, it's - you're right. I don't have anyone."

Duo nodded and rocked back on his heels.

"Too busy for a girlfriend?"

"Too gay for one," Trowa corrected.

Duo laughed.

"Same here, brother," he said. "Come on, let's get you in bed."

"You certainly move fast, Dr. Maxwell," Trowa joked.

Duo flushed and starting walking down the hall opposite the kitchen. The herd of dogs followed.

"I meant the guest bed," Duo muttered.

He opened a door and gestured inside.

"I share the practice with Dr. Winner - sometimes he takes a nap between shifts but the sheets are clean. I just changed them yesterday."

Trowa stepped into the room. It was sparsely decorated, but it felt warm, felt a hell of a lot more comforting than his own bedroom.

He shook his head at how pathetic he was being.

"Thank you," he said to Duo, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Not a problem. I'm ah, just going to be down the hall - going to catch a few hours sleep before I need to start checking on the animals."

Trowa nodded.

Duo whistled and the dogs ran out of the room before he closed the door.

Trowa toed off his boots. Duo had been right, the laces did need to be replaced soon.

He stripped down to his boxer briefs and pulled back the comforter on the bed. God, it looked like heaven. It would probably _feel_ like heaven to. Or close enough - closer still if Duo was in the bed with him.

Trowa sighed. He had been single for too long, and he was tired, and Duo Maxwell was sexy as hell. And a saint.

The door to the room opened again.

"Ah, sorry, just wanted to ask - do you want me -"

Trowa turned around when Duo trailed off.

Duo was staring at him, specifically at the mandala tattooed on Trowa's right side that wrapped around to his back and his abs.

"Do I want you?" Trowa repeated.

Duo turned red and tore his eyes away from the tattoo and looked at Trowa's face.

"What?"

"You asked if I wanted you?"

"Ah no. No, no. I just - do you want me to wake you up or just let you sleep? I don't mind either way I just… fuck. I'm sorry."

Trowa had to smirk at Duo's expression and his clear embarrassment.

"What exactly are you apologizing for?"

"For not knocking? For staring at your ass and then your tattoo and then your dick and - fuck. For saying way too much." Duo scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. Trowa, I really was just offering you a bed to sleep in and -"

"And here I was hoping you were apologizing for not asking me if I wanted you."

Duo stared at him.

"I - what?"

Trowa nodded to the dogs at Duo's heels.

"I'm not going to get mauled by them if I take these off, am I?" Trowa asked and tugged at the waistband of his briefs.

Duo stepped into the room and kicked the door shut with his heel.

"No," he assured Trowa.

Trowa smirked and he slowly pulled the briefs down. He heard Duo's breath catch and looked up in time to see him lick his lips.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Trowa like that, with such naked hunger and desire.

"Going to show me yours?" He asked.

Duo chuckled.

"Yeah, fair is fair I guess," he said, his voice low and throaty and it sounded like sex, sounded like he'd been kissed for hours, like he'd been sucking a cock until his throat was almost raw and Trowa felt himself growing hard.

He resisted the urge to touch himself and instead just watched as Duo stripped down, toeing off his shoes and socks before pulling off his sweater and then his t-shirt. He was pale, his skin flat and smooth with faint, but unmistakable muscle definition. There was a scar across the left side of his chest and left shoulder, the flesh white and twisted and flat.

Trowa reached out and traced over it.

"You were in a fire."

"Yeah, when I was a kid." Duo caught Trowa's hand and kissed the tips of his fingers. "But someone saved me so I grew up and decided to try to save things too."

Trowa swallowed hard at the sincerity in Duo's eyes, in his words. He wondered - he hoped that girl lived, hoped her scars wouldn't be this bad, hoped she would be able to see a way past it.

Duo let go of his hand and ran his fingers over Trowa's jaw, tilting his face down and then kissing him.

"You're a good guy, Trowa Barton."

Trowa shook his head, pulling back, but Duo held him close, kept their foreheads pressed together.

"You saved that girl - and you saved that dog. I know you hit her," Duo spoke louder when Trowa opened his mouth to interrupt, "and I'm sure you wish you'd gotten to that girl before she was burned, but you got to her. You saved her. And you brought the dog here. You did the right thing. You did a good thing, Trowa."

Duo's hands soothed over his back in long strokes and Trowa found himself blinking back tears.

Jesus. He had just been flirting, just pushing his luck and hoping to get laid and now - now he was a wreck.

Duo pulled him close, hugging him tightly, and Trowa realized it was the first time he had been hugged in years.

He felt awkward and still and useless, but then he wrapped his arms around Duo and hugged him back, held his warm, firm body close and it was suddenly easier to breathe.

"Merry Christmas, Trowa," Duo said into his ear.

"Merry Christmas, Duo."


End file.
